Her Refuge His Remedy
by WaifishRogue
Summary: Like a moth to flame, Cullen finds himself drawn to the Herald of Andraste. Brynn Trevelyan is equally enticed by the Commander of the Inquisition's forces. Both are scarred by troubled pasts, searching for something they do not know they need, something they do not realize the other can provide. (F Trevelyan x Cullen) Rated M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**_So, I wasn't originally going to post this, as I'm new to Dragon Age (I am currently playing catch up, I promise), there are a ton of fics with the same basic idea as mine, and it's been so long since I've been on this site that I don't even recall my original login information anymore. However, a friend insisted that I share since my urge to write something has reared its head at long last, so here goes. This will follow the basic outline laid out by Inquisition along with my own personal additions, because there was just not enough time with Cullen for my liking. I hope you enjoy!_**

* * *

The day was crisp, clear and cloudless, the glowing sun making a rare appearance over the frozen taiga that was Haven. It warmed the snow covering the town's well-worn pathways, turning it into an ugly muddy slush as the usual flow of foot traffic moved along. Droplets of frigid water dripped from crystalline icicles that adorned the eaves of nearby rooftops adding their own rhythmic cadence to the bustle of the small town.

Outside the gates of Haven's stone walls, a tall, blonde man wearing a fur epaulière over plate armor and a leather clad woman with a sinister-looking pair of daggers strapped to her back stood conversing, their words lost to everyone but them as the din of sparring recruits filled the wintry air. Although their eyes followed the movements of the troops training before them as they spoke, Commander Cullen Rutherford and Lady Brynn Trevelyan were deep in conversation. The Commander had just finished answering an onslaught of questions concerning his own personal history and his life as a Templar to the woman before him, to include a rather embarrassing query into a Templar's vows. He found that it was now his turn to ask the Lady Trevelyan about herself.

"What about you? What was your life like before all of this," he inquired gesturing toward the practising troops with a gloved hand , a wry smile playing upon his lips. Brynn could detect a note of genuine curiosity in the man's voice despite the nonchalant manner in which the question was posed.

"There's not much to say, really. I grew up in Ostwick and spent a good deal avoiding as much of House Trevelyan as I could. I never had any interest in the Chantry or the Maker, despite my family's devotion. Even at a young age, I couldn't understand how so many people could so readily believe in something they had absolutely no proof existed. This was cause for great disappointment as far as my parents were concerned. The Trevelyan's are a pious clan, notable for their connections with the Chantry, and I was expected to join in service in some way, since I had no hope of succeeding my father, the Bann. I am the youngest of my siblings, you see. However, becoming heir to House Trevelyan wasn't something that I would have wanted, anyway. Nobility and my title were the only things I disdained more than the Chantry, which worked to further my family's disappointment in me. I can't imagine the looks on their faces when they hear that I'm being touted as Andraste's Herald," Brynn sighed, shaking her head at the thought. Cullen watched, with more interest than was probably decent, as the movement caused strands of her shoulder length hair to fall across the sparsely freckled bridge of her nose. He noted vaguely that her skin was almost the same color as the sandy brown locks that now covered one of her eyes. She swiped a hand across her forehead to brush the offending hair back from her face.

"Ah, yes. There is some...irony...in the fact that someone as faithless as you has fallen into such a role," he replied ,inwardly cringing at the clumsy words that had just tumbled from his mouth. He watched as she quirked a single eyebrow over one of her eyes; eyes so grey that they reminded him forcefully of the stormy seas he had recently traversed. Quickly, Cullen averted his gaze, chastising himself, not only for putting his foot in his mouth but also for allowing his thoughts to run away with him.

"Faithless, huh? Nice to know that you think so well of me," she retorted sardonically, her expression now unreadable. She moved to cross her arms over her chest, defensively, her weight shifting from one leg to the other as she leaned away from him. Cullen found himself frustrated by this sudden change in attitude. Mere moments ago she was teasing him mercilessly about vows of chastity with a warm smile on her lips, and now, because of a slight slip of the tongue, her demeanor had transitioned to match their frigid surroundings.

"Yes, well, from the sound of it, you think me a fool for believing in a Maker of which I have no proof. Would you like to also censure me for joining the Templars and serving the Chantry?"

"I don't recall saying any such thing," she replied glacially, pursing her full lips in annoyance. "And I don't like having my words twisted into something more than what they are. I'm sorry that my lack of piety makes you uncomfortable, Commander, but I don't think any less of those who choose that way of life, just because I don't understand it. As for the Templars and the Chantry, you've left both behind and joined the Inquisition, have you not? You made those choices for some reason or another, but the short of it was that neither was doing the job you thought they ought to, so you moved on to a better cause. Tell me I'm wrong."

"Ah...I...I'm sorry," he stammered, feeling the heat rising in his face as he rubbed at the back of his neck with his gloved hand and cursing himself mentally. "I shouldn't have assumed."

"No, you shouldn't have. Especially when you're the one who asked the question in the first place," she snapped at him irately, her olive cheeks flushed slightly. "Next time you inquire into someone's life, make certain you want to hear what it is they have to say. I realize my beliefs are unpopular, but if you had the Chantry forced upon you since birth, you may well have felt the same. Forgive me for wasting your time with my blaspheming."

Cullen followed her retreating form with his eyes as she stormed away from him, unable to take his gaze away from swaying of her hips until she had disappeared behind Haven's gates. He fought the urge to slam his fist against the stone wall behind him. That was not the direction their conversation was supposed to take.

The Commander could recall their first time he had spoken with the Lady Trevelyan so vividly, it was almost as if he had memorized the words like lines for a play. It had gone much more favorably than this last interaction. Closing his eyes, he searched his memory for the words they had shared. He had started the conversation by telling the Herald of the pilgrims and residents of Haven flocking to join the Inquisition.

'_None made quite the entrance you did,' _he had said to her. His tone had been almost playful, and he could remember feeling a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

'_At least I got everyone's attention,' _was her equally lighthearted reply.

'_That you did,'_ he had continued, giving her a sidelong glance. The corners of her eyes had been crinkled in a charming smile that had set his pulse racing.

Then he had proceeded to ramble on about witnessing the mage uprising in Kirkwall, nonsense pertaining to his recruitment to the Inquisition and Seeker Pentaghast's involvement, whilst Brynn had reassured him that the mark upon her hand would seal the breach in the sky. He had continued on in his rambling about the chantry, templars and mages, before he had realized that he was getting a bit long-winded.

'_Forgive me,' _he had apologized, '_I doubt you came here for a lecture.'_

'_No, but if you have one prepared, I'd love to hear it,'_ she had quipped with a smirk of her own.

'_Another time, perhaps,'_ he had replied with a chuckle.

At the time, he had been certain that she was flirting with him. Although now that he gave it more thought, it was possible that he had just hoped that she was flirting with him, because he found her so damned appealing. It didn't matter now, he had just blown any chance he might have had with her. It was best to just put the idea out of his head completely as it would only distract from the task at hand. If only that wasn't such a difficult feat. Reluctantly, Cullen turned his attention back to the troops sparring in front of him deciding to vent some of his frustration upon them.

x.X.x

"Insufferable man," muttered Brynn under her breath as she marched her way to the apothecary's shack to deliver his master, Taigen's, notes. Why had she ever thought stopping and chatting with Cullen on the way back into to Haven was a good idea? Unbidden thoughts of his handsome visage clouded her vision, before she forced the image from her mind.

So he was nice to look at. That didn't mean he was necessarily a gem, as evidenced by their previous conversation. Plus he hadn't really played the part of gentleman upon their first meeting on the way to stabilize the breach. What had he been thinking, congratulating the Seeker on closing the rift? As if that woman had the power to seal breaches in the Fade.

"_Well, it wasn't like you did either, until recently,'_ quipped a small voice in the back of her mind. Brynn had to concede that point. Still, he had been so accusing when he had turned from Cassandra to her.

'_I hope they're right about you,'_ he had said coldly, the look in his eyes hard and angry. '_We lost a lot of people to get you here.'_

As if that had been her intention! As if she truly wished harm to any of the Inquisition's soldiers! She had gone with Cassandra willingly to close the breaches, and apparently that had counted for nothing. She could understand the anger and mistrust surrounding the loss of the Divine and so many others at the Conclave, but surely, if she had been the one to cause such devastation, she wouldn't return willingly to the scene of her crime. It seemed he really was that same thoughtless man that she had met in the mountains, after all.

What was more aggravating, was that Brynn had been so looking forward to her next meeting with the Commander, considering how well she thought their conversation had gone the first time around. During her time in Val Royeaux, the recruitment of First Enchanter Vivienne and a rather obnoxious elf called Sera to her band of unlikely allies, and the following weeks she spent assisting the refugees in the Hinterlands, she had found her mind wandering to the Commander more than was appropriate, especially given her situation. She had been all nerves and anticipation when her gaze alighted on him overseeing his troops outside of Haven's walls upon her return from the late apothecary's hut.

Brynn huffed in frustration, stomping her feet through the slushy snow on the well-traveled pathway in front of her. She could feel the cold, wet stuff through her sodden boots as it splashed beneath her feet, but she didn't care. She continued her furious trudging until she felt herself collide with something solid. Before she could fall backwards into the soupy slush, a pair of surprisingly strong arms reached out, gripping her by the waist, to steady her.

"Solas!" she gasped, staring up in wide-eyed surprise at the bald elf. He had obviously been pacing back and forth between the buildings in front of Adan's shack. "I apologize. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

"The fault is not yours alone. I, too, should have paid better attention to my surroundings," he replied matter-of-factly, his blue eyes peering at her with a sort of intensity that made Brynn feel, with no small amount of discomfort, like he was reading her thoughts. "You seem upset. Is something wrong?"

"Its...nothing," she sighed, her grey eyes failing to meet his as she spoke. Brynn shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other under the apostate's acute scrutiny.

"A lie," the elf stated bluntly as he clasped his hands behind his back, "but I will forgive your reluctance to confide in me."

"I'm just frustrated with our Commander. I'll get over it," she admitted, giving Solas a wry smile. Brynn thought she could detect the corners of the mage's mouth turn upwards a minute fraction. She found it unnerving that he always seemed to have some sort of special insight into everything.

"He does seem...less diplomatic than your other advisors, but I do believe him well-intentioned. Perhaps you should give him the benefit of the doubt. Ah, but I am speaking without knowledge of the situation. My apologies."

"No apologies necessary…From you, anyway," she added quickly, with a small smile. "Cullen, however, won't be given such leniency. Well, if you'll excuse me, I have some notes to deliver."

The elf tilted his head in gracious farewell as she rushed inside the apothecary's hut. Brynn thrust the notes at the man inside, briefly explaining that she had found them for him, before deciding to retire to her own hut for the day. She could hardly wait to remove her water-logged boots from her feet.

As soon as she had shut the rickety door of her hut behind her, Brynn immediately moved to build a fire inside of the stone fireplace on the far wall of her quarters. She surveyed her temporary home with satisfaction, as she unstrapped her daggers from her back before sitting down on the ground and pulling off her boots to warm her toes by the now merrily crackling fire. It was true, as Josephine had mentioned earlier that day, that her living conditions were nowhere near what would be considered comfortable at home in Ostwick, but she had slept in worse places.

As it was now, she had a decent-sized and surprisingly comfortable bed to sleep in and a small, round table with a sturdy chair at which to take meals on one side of the one-roomed hut. On the other side was a well-worn desk and another chair, although she wasn't sure she would have need to use them, and on the wall opposite the fireplace were two bookcases, one on either side of the entrance. Brynn could easily call a place like this home if given the opportunity.

She pondered on the freedoms she could have if she hadn't been born a Bann's daughter, if politics and religion didn't consume her life, reclining back on her elbows as the fire warmed her feet. After a while Brynn found herself yawning drowsily and decided to settle on top of her comfortable bedding for a quick nap before dinner. Despite the fact that she remained in her leathers, she quickly drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

After what had seemed like only minutes of being asleep, Brynn was jolted awake by a loud knock upon her door. Startled, she jumped quickly out of her bed, moving across the room soundlessly on her bare feet as she made for the door. She opened it a crack, peering out into the darkness of night beyond. She had slept longer than she had intended.

"I brought you dinner, by way of apology, and also because you apparently slept through it," Commander Cullen chuckled, taking in the portion of her disheveled hair and sleep-ridden eyes that he could see through the small opening before him. "May I come in for a moment?"

"Oh!" she gasped, realizing that she was letting Cullen stand outside in the frigid night air. "Of course, Commander."

Brynn stepped back, taking the door with her and attempting to smooth out her hair as best she could as Cullen entered. His tall, armor-clad frame seemed to fill the space, making it appear even smaller than it actually was. Wordlessly, he handed her a steaming bowl of vegetable stew and some bread, which she accepted gratefully. She could feel her stomach beginning to grumble its approval as the delicious smell of food wafted underneath her nose. She moved to set it down on the table resting at the foot of her bed.

"I...Thank you," she stammered nervously, unprepared for the commander's thoughtful apology, or his presence in general. His eyes seemed to dart around the room, observing every square inch of his surroundings from her disheveled bedding to the pair leather boots sitting in front of the fireplace to the daggers placed haphazardly over the mess of papers upon the small desk, almost as though he was looking for something. It struck Brynn that he seemed to be looking everywhere but at her, and she wondered briefly if the man was uncomfortable being in such close proximity to her when no other people were present. She found the idea that he might be just a little bit shy incredibly endearing.

"Think nothing of it," he replied gallantly, with a small smile, his gaze flickering to hers for the briefest of moments. His back seemed to straighten before he spoke again, his words coming out a bit more stiffly than before. "I was rude when we spoke earlier today. I felt it necessary to apologize."

"Well, yes, you already said that," Brynn said with a soft smile of her own. For some reason, her heart seemed to be picking up its pace within her chest as she watched him. She was certain that he would hear it if it decided to beat any harder. "Would you like to have a seat?" she continued, gesturing to the chair tucked away beneath her cluttered desk.

"No, no, I'm fine, thank you."

He stood in front of the fireplace with one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the other hand resting on top of it. Brynn had noticed this stance was a habit of his. She decided she would remain standing as well, then, but she could not help but feel foolish standing there in all her armor save for her boots, her feet awkwardly bare.

"Commander...Cullen, I...I am sorry as well. I know my beliefs are...unusual, and I carelessly shared them anyway. I should have expected you to feel as though I was judging your faith. I have been on the receiving end of similar reactions before. I assure you, that making you uncomfortable was not my intention, but…"

"No, Lady Trevelyan, you were correct in your earlier statement," Cullen interjected, his expressive amber eyes searching hers as he spoke. What he was searching her expression for, she did not know, but Brynn could feel her cheeks grow warm as she found herself unable to pry her gaze from his. "I should not have made assumptions. I was the one who asked you to tell me about yourself, after all. I am the guilty party in this, and I offer my sincere apologies."

His voice had grown soft, as he finally tore his eyes from hers, rubbing at his neck in discomfiture. Brynn noticed that he looked even more handsome with the lambent fire light reflecting off of his breastplate and illuminating his face. Brynn suddenly felt as though her stomach were filled with a great many fluttering creatures as she drank in his appearance from the stubble that outlined his jaw to the worry lines of his forehead to the warmth the dying fire gave his blonde curls as it flickered.

"They are accepted, with my gratitude at your concern and consideration," she answered, nodding at the food she had placed upon her table. She had just been so consumed with thoughts of how the rough stubble of his chin would feel beneath her lips that she was surprised she had even managed a coherent response.

"Ah, yes," he mumbled, nodding his head, his eyes now looking anywhere but at hers once again. Brynn couldn't stop herself from pressing her lips together in a smile at his reserved behavior. It seemed that the Commander truly was shy after all, and she had been staring quite intently. "Well, I'd best be off."

She watched as he made his way across the room and to the door. She could hear the hinges creak and groan as it opened, but before he could set a foot outside, Brynn called out to him. Silhouetted in doorway his breath coming out in long streams of white as it met the glacial air outside, Cullen paused, turning his head slightly to peer over his furry epaulière at the woman behind him.

"Your faith. I think it's amazing, not foolish. That you could still maintain faith in the Maker after everything you've seen...everything you've experienced...I only wish it was so easy for me."

"It isn't easy," he murmured, the look in his eyes now miles away from where he was currently standing. A soft sigh escaped from between his scarred lips, as he stepped out into the night, letting the door fall closed behind him softly. Brynn listened to the crunching of his heavy footsteps upon the frost-covered ground until she could no longer hear them, before turning her attention to the steaming meal her unexpected guest had brought her. She knew she would find herself dwelling upon the evening's events and that faraway look in the Commander's tawny eyes far longer than was necessary.


	2. Chapter 2

**_A big thanks to all who stopped by to read my first chapter! Rox Malone, I really appreciate you taking the time to review! I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoy reading it just as much!_**

* * *

Cullen had slept poorly. Placing his hand over his forehead, he rubbed at his temples trying to ease the oncoming headache. His slumber had been invaded by nightmares reminding him of the horrors he had witnessed and the torment he had been subjected to at Kinloch Tower. It seemed the longer he kept himself from his lyrium, the worse his nightmares were and the more sleepless his nights became.

Trying to ignore the furious pounding of his head, Cullen rose from his tent. His aching eyes were met by the blindingly brilliant sun reflecting off of the glistening, white snow making the world seem entirely too bright for his liking. What he wouldn't give for a bit of cloud cover at this moment.

Since breakfast was definitely not an option for his unsettled stomach, he decided he would make his way to the Chantry. The lighting was relatively dim within its walls, and he could sit uninterrupted at the war table under the pretense of planning missions for the Inquisition's troops until his headache subsided. He pushed his way through the tall, wooden gates, now intent on his destination, but before he had managed a few steps up the path to the Chantry, he heard a voice call out to him.

It was the dwarf, Varric. He was standing alone by a blazing bonfire that was across the way from Seggrit's modest merchant's stall. Cullen huffed a sigh of annoyance as the barrel-chested dwarf waved him over. Against his better judgement, he found his feet carrying him toward the bonfire.

"Hey Curly!" Varric called out flippantly to the approaching man, a mischievous glint behind his eyes that Cullen was not sure he , lowering his voice as the Commander moved closer he asked, "Was that you I saw coming out of the Herald's hut last night? Pretty bold of you, don't you think?"

"Already trying to start rumors, I see, Varric," Cullen retorted, hoping his tone made it clear that he was not in the mood for the dwarf's antics. "I'd suggest against slandering the lady's good name. I imagine she wouldn't thank you for that."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Commander," the dwarf replied smoothly, with an almost imperceptible wink, "but you gotta admit, the Herald of Andraste and the Commander of the Inquisition's forces tangled in a forbidden romance amidst the ravages of war. Could make for a good story."

"Forbidden romance?" snorted Cullen at the absurd idea. "If there were to be a hypothetical dalliance between Lady Trevelyan and myself, it would be far from forbidden. I mean who is there to forbid it? I'm sure it would set many tongues wagging and could possibly be met with some disapproval, but I think forbidden is taking it a bit far."

"That's why it's called a story, Curly," Varric stated teasingly, his eyes twinkling as a knowing smirk formed on his mouth. "Seems like someone might actually be thinking about it as a little bit more?"

"Of course not," the Commander replied curtly as his head gave a particularly nasty throb. He wasn't sure if it was the obnoxious dwarf or the pungent smell of smoke that was making his headache worse. Standing so close to the raging heat of the fire definitely wasn't helping either.

"Lighten up, Cullen. You spend entirely too much time with a serious expression on your face. It's bad for your health. You could stand a bit of fun...or dare I say...romance?"

"I think I'd prefer it if you minded your own business in regards to my expressions," Cullen remarked coldly. He needed to get out from beneath the sun's dazzling rays soon. He was starting to feel dizzy as the throbbing in the front of his head continued in full force now. He could feel the light sheen of sweat that was starting to form upon his forehead as he swallowed back his nausea.

"All right, Curly, but you're not the only one making puppy dog eyes, just so you know. I think she likes you too. I even heard her call out your name in her sleep the other night after we'd made camp in the Hinterlands," Varric whispered conspiratorially. Cullen froze at these words. He could feel his eyes widen in surprise, before they narrowed again in suspicion as he remembered that it was Varric sharing this information.

"I imagine you misheard her, then, provided you're not making up more stories," he bit out, annoyed at the dwarf's insistence in teasing him on the matter. Was he really so obvious in his infatuation that even Varric had noticed? If Varric had his suspicions, then who else could he expect taunting from? Leliana had no doubt caught onto him as well, then. Nothing slipped passed her.

"Think whatever you want, Commander. I've spent plenty of time out there with her. Her ferocity is...frightening. She's unyielding, unstoppable. She wouldn't rest until we had done all we could to assist the refugees at the Crossroads. Plus, she has this uncanny ability to inspire people even without words. I'm fairly certain she could convince the mages and the Templars to be best friends if we gave her enough time. It's no wonder we rally around her. Even I forget sometimes that she's just a person. But, I've seen her when she speaks to you, and she's different. Softer...less...intimidating. I think I actually saw her smile."

Cullen let out a sharp bark of laughter at the dwarf's words. Less intimidating? The Herald of Andraste? Cullen was certain there was no person more intimidating in the whole of existence. Amell had been pretty daunting in her own right, but the knowledge that his infatuation was an impossible dream made it somehow safe. When it came to the Herald, well he'd almost prefer to try his luck with the abominations back in Kinloch Tower once more; the temptations they offered were much less appealing, and the worst they could inflict was death. As it stood now, a fluttering of her long, dark eyelashes, the right whispered words from her lips, and he would be on his knees begging to lick the mud from her boots. But that was a path that, if followed, could lead to a great many things that were so much worse than something so simple as dying.

He groaned inwardly. He barely even knew this woman, had maybe spoken to her a total of three or four times, and already his thoughts were running away with him completely. It was so reminiscent of his ridiculous fascination with the Hero of Ferelden, except now there were no rules that would prevent him from pursuing a relationship with the woman he desired. Just as with Amell, he knew almost nothing of the Lady Trevelyan except that she was a beautiful woman. What was wrong with him? Was he really so shallow that beauty was all that mattered to him? And, why did Varric feel he had the right to pry, anyway? His headache was now reaching unbearable heights. He needed to get away quickly before he collapsed.

"Yes well, I have duties to attend to," Cullen said dismissively with a small nod of his head. "If you'll excuse me."

It took everything Cullen had not to sprint the rest of the way to Haven's Chantry. He ignored everyone he passed, the solitude the war table would bring clear in his mind as he threw open the Chantry doors, allowing them to slam closed behind him. He regretted allowing the noise immediately, not only because of the extra pain it caused his head, but also because many of the Chantry-goers were now staring in his direction. The room seemed to swim hazily before him as his eyes struggled to focus, but continued on his way to the large doors at the end of the room, trying his best to remain steady on his clumsy feet. Maker! If the headaches were going to continue on this badly, maybe he ought to just go back to his lyrium leash.

He felt his gloved hand make contact with the wooden door, and he pushed it open, slipping inside the dimly lit room as soon as it was opened wide enough. He let it fall shut behind him as he leaned back again the neighboring door, panting as sweat dripped from his forehead.

"Commander Cullen!" a familiar voice gasped, and he cursed mentally. Not her. Anyone but her. He didn't want her to see him like this. "Are...Are you feeling alright?"

'What?" he asked, wishing he could wipe the back of his hand across his dewy forehead but realizing that it would be a futile effort while wearing leather gloves. "Oh, yes. I was just out sparring with the troops, and I must admit I'm still a bit winded."

It took every ounce of effort he had to stand completely upright. His amber eyes would not quite focus upon her gray ones, but he hoped it at least appeared as though he were looking her in the eyes. He attempted what he prayed was a charming smile, but he felt as if it had come out as more of a grimace. He could not afford to be weak right now. The Herald needed to believe that the Commander of the Inquisition's forces was strong and capable. She needed to know he could be relied upon. He did not want to give anyone reason to doubt his abilities so early on in the Inquisition's endeavors, but he especially did not want to disappoint her.

"You look pale," Brynn stated somewhat bluntly, but the tone of her voice was soft, and her words were full of concern "Are you sure you're feeling well? I can go and fetch Adan if you need.."

"I assure you, Lady Trevelyan, I am fine," he replied, his voice sounding much stronger than he felt. It was relieving to know at least that faculty had not betrayed him. "I went without breaking my fast this morning. I am sure that is the reason for my pale complexion."

"So you make certain I mind my mealtimes, when you can't even manage to do the same yourself?" she queried in a playful tone. Cullen wished he could discern her expression clearly. He could imagine the graceful arch of her eyebrow quirked in a mock expression of amused disbelief that he was sure rested upon her features at this very moment.

"Well, it's important for the Herald of Andraste to keep her strength up as she is the one running around all of Thedas slaying demons and closing rifts in the fade," he answered cheekily, his headache momentarily forgotten as he wondered for what felt like the hundredth time since meeting her if she was truly was flirting with him. Maybe there had been a bit of truth in Varric's words after all. "Not to mention, you accomplish all this while spreading word of the Inquisition and recruiting people to our cause. I'm just training the army you've earned us."

"And leading it," she quipped back at him. "So maybe there are a few less fade rifts in your job description, but you still have to prove yourself worthy of commanding to the men serving underneath you, which is no mean feat. The Inquisition needs you much more than they need me, especially since the Templars have abandoned the Chantry. The people need soldiers to protect them, to make them feel safe again. I just got to be the lucky one with the strange glowing hand that can close tears in the sky."

"I am not the beacon of hope that you are, Herald. The Inquisition grows every day, its ranks swelling with those who wish to follow you, not me," Cullen stated earnestly. He moved toward the war table, trying to discover what it was the Herald had been considering, before he had interrupted her.

"Yes, well, just imagine if all those people actually knew me, and how I felt about all this 'Herald of Andraste' nonsense. I'm not a...what was it that you said?...a beacon of hope?...by choice," she retorted with a sardonic chuckle. She gave him a wry smile before sighing heavily. "Honestly, I don't want any part of this. I'm just a spoiled noble brat who had everything handed to me and never appreciated any of it. I'm fair with a pair of daggers or a stubborn lock, but I'm no hero or champion. This...Herald business...I'm going to screw it all up, like everything else I've ever done. How am I supposed to know if I should choose to side with the mages or the Templars to close the breach? What if I choose wrong? But, eventually, I'm going to have to choose, because...because I have this...this thing," she thrust her glowing hand out under his nose as she said the words, "whatever it is, embedded in my flesh. I don't even know how it happened, how it came to be there. I just know that it's too much! I don't...I can't…," she trailed off, holding her face in her hands. The image of how small and fragile her hand looked as she held it out for him stuck in his mind, and he could no longer fathom how he had ever viewed her as intimidating.

At seeing the Lady Trevelyan so vulnerable, Cullen was seized by the overwhelming desire to reach out to comfort her, to pull her against his chest and hold there until her worries faded. He was surprised that she was showing him, of all people, the cracks in the veneer of unwavering tenacity with which she faced the world at large. But, despite the thick leather armor and menacing daggers she wielded with remarkable skill, she was still a woman, a woman who now held the weight of the entire world upon her shoulders.

"My lady, I…," he stammered, but he could find no words with which to comfort her. His head was still pounding nastily, but he could see the Lady Trevelyan more clearly than he could before. She had exposed herself to him, showed him a glimpse of her flaws and insecurities, proven that there was more hiding behind the normally tough and self-assured exterior.

Then, her back straightened, and her hands moved away from her face. The expression it wore was now vague and emotionless. Her full lips were pressed together in a tight line and something had hardened behind her eyes. The mask was back, the troubled woman hiding behind it now gone from view.

"Forgive me, Commander. I am not usually, so...weak," she remarked, distaste dripping from the last word. "I hope I did not make you uncomfortable or cause you to doubt my commitment to the Inquisition."

"You are not weak, my Lady!" Cullen declared a little more fervently than he intended. He cleared his throat, an embarrassed flush was now clawing its way up his neck, and placed his hands upon the table, looking down at the space between them as he started again. "Having doubts and reservations about the overwhelming decisions that must be made does not make you weak. I am proud to work alongside someone who is so concerned about doing what is right for the people of Thedas. Do not feel as though you cannot confide in me. I will not think you any less capable just because you have a few qualms about what is to be done."

He brought his gaze up to meet hers and saw that her face had softened in surprise. She seemed to be giving him an appraising sort of look. Her eyes flickered back and forth between his as though she was searching for the truth of his words within them. As if she had found what she was looking for, Brynn reached her hand across the war table and allowed it to rest on top of his, giving it a gentle squeeze. Suddenly Cullen found himself wishing that he hadn't pulled his gloves on when he had dressed that morning.

"Cullen," she murmured softly, her slate grey eyes still locked upon his amber ones. She had not yet pulled her hand away from his. He felt his pulse quicken under her scrutiny, his headache all but forgotten. The door creaked open, and she pulled her hand away from his abruptly as he turned to glare at whoever had intruded upon their private moment.

"Your Worship, I am glad you are here," came a familiar Orlesian accent. Leliana entered the room entirely too silently for a person clad in chain mail. "And Commander Cullen," she added in greeting with a note of amusement hidden in the lilt of her voice. "There was something I wanted to discuss with you, my Lady."

"Of course. Would you mind walking with me? I think our Commander wanted to look over some troop movements, and I've kept him from his task long enough," was the Herald's reply. Her mask was locked firmly back into place as she left with Leliana, who was sharing her concerns about the absence of Gray Wardens in the aftermath of the breach, but her eyes sought his out one final time before the door closed behind her. Cullen knew then and there that he was firmly on that path that led to a great many more complications than he was truly certain he wanted. And yet, though, the Herald had not truly done anything to make his heart so hopeful, to hint that she was interested in anything more than his friendship, he knew he would be left unsatisfied if friendship was all that she desired of him.


	3. Chapter 3

**So, this was an incredibly difficult chapter for me to write, as I was trying to decide exactly which direction I want to take with my Inquisitor's background, but I think I'm all squared away now. I wrote and rewrote this chapter at least four times! A big thank you to those of you reading, and to those of you who took the time to review, I really appreciate your support! Sorry for taking so long with the update!**

* * *

Three weeks passed, and in those three weeks, the Herald of Andraste had not returned to Haven. Cullen had some idea of what it was she was accomplishing during this time, having read the reports that Leliana's messenger crows had brought to them, but he could not stop the gnawing worry in the pit of his stomach at the fact that she still had not returned to him.

His thoughts came to a jarring halt, and he scoffed at the ridiculous idea that had wormed its way into his head. Return to him? When the Herald returned, she would not be returning to him, she would be returning to the Inquisition.

He sighed, running a hand through his unusually disheveled hair as he studied her movements and the new tasks she had set for her advisors upon the vast map covering the war table. She seemed to have started her latest campaign at the Storm Coast, hiring the Iron Bull and his band of mercenaries shortly after arriving. The imposing Qunari and his Chargers had arrived at Haven two weeks ago with a missive addressed to Lady Montilyet from the Herald herself, pitching tents next to the empty stables before making themselves comfortable in the tavern shortly thereafter.

Lady Trevelyan, it seemed, had remained at the coast after the Chargers departed to assist Forward Scout Harding with locating some missing scouts, somehow recruiting the Blades of Hessarian to the Inquisition and closing a few more rifts in the process. Reports received after that showed the Herald leaving for the Hinterlands to follow up on Leliana's lead concerning the Gray Wardens. Half a week after her arrival in the Hinterlands, a Warden by the name of Blackwall had come wandering into Haven asking to speak with the Nightingale.

They had received no more news of the Herald until two days ago when Horse Master Dennet had arrived with his herd , ready to supply the Inquisition with the finest steeds Ferelden had to offer. The Lady Trevelyan had accomplished an incredible amount in three weeks time as far as Cullen was concerned, and he was beginning to wonder if she might be pushing herself a little too hard. He was of the opinion that, as it stood now, the Herald of Andraste had managed to accomplish more than any other member of the Inquisition, with the possible exception of Sister Leliana. Although, Leliana wasn't out in the field putting her neck on the line, as she had agents to do such things for her. The Herald did not have that luxury.

There was no one else, no possible substitute, cursed with a glowing mark on their hand that could traipse around Thedas closing the rifts in the sky. It was the Herald who was required to put herself in harm's way for the sake of the world, regardless of Cullen's feelings on the matter, not that he would ever actually voice such feelings. He wished desperately that she would return to Haven, even for a short while, so he could make certain that she was all right and put his troubled mind at ease.

As if the heaven's themselves were answering his prayer, the doors to the war room were flung wide open, the unexpected noise causing him to start. The Lady Trevelyan marched through them and into the room flanked by Leliana, Josephine and Cassandra. It appeared as though she had just returned to Haven as her dark leather armor was splattered with dried blood and gore, her face was smeared with dirt and her hair looked to be matted with blood and whatever grime she had come across in her travels. Cassandra did not look any better.

"Good, Commander, I was hoping you'd be here," she declared, her tone all business as she moved toward the war table. She seemed to notice the questioning look in his eyes at her unkempt appearance, but the Herald paid him no mind. "As I'm sure you all know, I've been in the Hinterlands securing aid from Horse Master Dennet. I decided that before I returned to Haven, I should acknowledge the invitation to Redcliffe I received from Grand Enchanter Fiona during my excursion to Val Royeaux. I arrived to discover that she's pledged herself and her mages to the service of a Tevinter Magister who has also managed to oust the Arl and taken over the whole of Redcliffe. And that's not even the interesting part," Trevelyan added sardonically. Cassandra was standing stiffly beside her looking even more grim-faced than was usual beneath her gore-laden armor.

Cullen could not imagine how the information the Herald was about to impart could manage to be any worse than what she had shared thus far. His eyes traveled to the faces of his fellow advisors. Shock colored Josephine's dark features, but Leliana remained distinctly unruffled, her blue eyes devoid of anything that would betray thoughts or emotions. He wondered vaguely if this was news at all to the seemingly omniscient spymaster.

The room was silent as the Herald of Andraste seemed to gather her thoughts. Cullen watched the shadows the flickering candlelight cast across her grimy face. Even beneath the layer of filth, she was lovely. But it was not the time for such thoughts. He needed to focus on the words that were flowing from her mouth, not the way her lips moved as she said them.

"We met with this Magister, Alexius, he called himself. I attempted to negotiate with him for the mages' assistance in closing the breach, but before we could finish our conversation, his son seemed to take ill, stumbling into me and passing on a note in the process. This note simply read, 'Come to the Chantry. You are in danger.'"

"A trap?" Cullen grunted in askance, his eyes suddenly roaming Lady Trevelyan's body for signs of obvious injury. He found none to his alarmingly overwhelming relief.

"It occurred to me that it was a possibility, but no, I don't believe it was. We entered the Chantry, found and closed a rift," she replied, gesturing toward her bloodied attire, "and met another Tevinter mage at the Chantry, Dorian Pavus, a former student of Alexius. He claimed that the Magister was using magic to distort the flow of time."

"Maker's breath, is that even possible?" the Commander demanded in disbelief. He had never been one to underestimate magic, but this just seemed too fantastical.

"To what purpose?" inquired Leliana ignoring Cullen's shocked reaction. Her face was still impassive as she regarded the Herald's words.

"According to Master Pavus, he wished to indenture the rebel mages before I had the opportunity to offer them an alliance."

"This mage could be lying," interjected Leliana. "Did he offer any proof of his claims?"

"Yes, we thought of that, too," the Seeker answered. There was hint of annoyance in her Nevarran accent, almost as though she was begrudging of the evidence that had been offered. "However, the rifts near Redcliffe were different than those we have encountered before."

"The rifts did seem to manipulate time in the ways Master Pavus had described, however this magic and whether or not it is possible is irrelevant," Brynn declared, as though impatient to continue on. "The Magister's son arrived at the Chantry shortly thereafter. He told us his father has joined a cult of Tevinter supremacists better known as the Venatori who, it would seem, have a rather unhealthy interest in me," she added with a droll smirk. Cullen's hands tightened unconsciously into fists at his side. He did not like the sounds of these cultists nor the threat they might pose to the Lady Trevelyan.

"Which leads us to believe they may be connected with the breach, and whoever killed the Divine," Cassandra said. There was a hard edge to her words as she glared around the room.

"Naturally," the spymaster agreed with a nod of her head.

"Alexius has extended an invitation to me. He would like for me return to Castle Redcliffe, alone, to further discuss our negotiations concerning mage assistance with closing the breach. It is, of course, a trap," Brynn continued, almost sounding bored. Cullen found himself slightly irritated at her blase attitude toward such an obvious attempt on her life.

"I think we ought to go the Templars. These Venatori are Tevinter. It's likely that mages fill their ranks, and I doubt they've any experience with the Templar's abilities. We could catch them unaware and neutralize the threat they pose," Cullen offered his opinion freely. When he finished speaking, he fixed his gaze upon the Herald, watching closely for any sign that she agreed with his opinion.

"Commander, their ranks have just been swelled by the conscription of the rebel mages, who have plenty of experience fighting against the Templars. If the Templars were truly capable of managing this threat, the mage rebellion would have been put down as soon as it started," Leliana countered forcefully. "If we do not assist the mages, they will be used against us. Can the same be said of the Templars?"

"I am inclined to agree with Leliana," Josephine declared, her dark eyes lingering upon the Herald. She seemed to shift as far away from Cullen as possible without actually moving as she spoke. "Lady Trevelyan, what do you think?"

Four pairs of eyes now fell upon the Herald of Andraste. Her eyes flicked from one pair to the next, and Cullen suddenly recalled the conversation they had shared in the war room a few weeks ago. He sincerely hoped that he was not adding to the pressure that she felt. He was only suggesting what he thought was best.

"Of course. It all comes down to me," she muttered almost inaudibly. Then, in a much stronger voice, she said, "I think I need to get cleaned up and have a proper night's rest before making any such decisions. We will reconvene in the morning. I will have made my decision by then."

Something behind her eyes had looked defeated for the briefest of moments, but he was certain he had not imagined it. The Commander watched her closely as she strode out of the room. Something told him there was more weighing on her mind than the pressing issue at hand. He wanted to follow her, to ask her if she was alright, but Cassandra was now addressing the war council, filling in the gaps left by the Herald's concise explanation of the events at Redcliffe. The Seeker would surely have his head if he left right as she began speaking.

x.X.x

Brynn stared up at the ceiling of her hut, eyes straining in the darkness as she tried to count each strand of straw woven into the thatched roof. Sleep would not come, no matter how hard she willed it. Her mind was keeping her wide awake as she dwelled upon the choice she was going to have to make.

The source of her anxiety, however, was not the decision itself. She had already made her mind up in Redcliffe. It was the disappointment and possible resentment she would see etched upon the Commander's chiseled features when she told him that she planned to pursue assistance from the mages that kept her from her rest.

Allying with the mages made perfect sense to her. The mages were in a much better position to damage the Inquisition than the Templars if not released from the confines of the Grand Enchanter's foolish arrangement. Plus, investigating these Venatori was their best chance of discerning who had murdered the Divine and set a giant hole in the fade above the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

Still, she understood the Commander's reluctance. He had been a Templar for most of his life. The mistrust of magic and those who could wield it was heavily indoctrinated into the Order's training of its members. While Cullen was much more tolerant than many Templars she had met in the past, those things he learned to believe during his time in the Order would not change overnight, just because he no longer donned Templar armor.

A soft tapping on her door roused her from her thoughts. Brynn drew a sharp breath at the sound. She was curious who was at her door so near to midnight, but she was also a bit wary. Rising quietly from her bed, the rogue moved to the closed door as silently as was possible.

"Who's there?" she called out sharply from behind the door.

"It's Cullen, my Lady. I apologize for calling so late. I..I'm sorry, I'm bothering you, aren't I? I'll just..," he trailed off as she pulled the door open suddenly. Brynn could feel her blood seem to race through her veins as he stared at her wide-eyed. He was still clad in the usual amount of plate, suggesting that he had not even considered retiring for the evening, despite the lateness of the hour.

Brynn stood puzzled in the doorway, shivering slightly in her flimsy night dress, gooseflesh creeping up her arms as the bitingly cold night air invaded the sleepy warmth of her hut. She could feel Cullen's roving eyes examining her figure beneath the gauzy garb and flushed slightly beneath his scrutiny. He seemed to realize the indecency of his perusal and drew an arm up behind him as he rubbed at the back of his neck, his gaze now directed somewhere around his feet.

"Is there something you need, Commander?" Brynn inquired after a moment's awkward silence. She stilled her chattering teeth as best she could as she spoke. Try as she might, Brynn could not seem to work out any reason for the Commander to be calling at her door so late at night. If it was an emergency, there would surely be more urgency in his manner.

"I...I just wanted to...In...In the Chantry, you seemed…," he stuttered, stumbling awkwardly over his words. "Maker! I should have just left you to your rest," he huffed half to himself in flustered exasperation.

"I'm afraid there was no rest to be had, Commander," she offered, giving him a wry smile that she wasn't sure he could make out in the dark.

"Then we find ourselves in similar situations."

"How do you know that sleep will prove elusive if you do not even give it the chance to evade you?" Brynn teased, with a small smirk. An icy breeze blew through the entryway, rustling her nightdress around her legs and causing her to shudder slightly as it assaulted her bare calves and feet. "Or do you make a habit of sleeping in your armor?"

"Ah, yes," he capitulated with a rueful grin. "I admit, I have not even made an attempt at rest tonight. But you are shivering, my Lady. I should let you return to the warmth of your bed."

"If that is what you wish, Commander. But if you find you'd rather spend more time conversing, you could come in, and I will stoke the fire."

"That would be improper so late in the evening," he exclaimed, sounding almost scandalized by her suggestion. Brynn had to stop herself from laughing aloud at his tone.

"Oh, yet it is proper to call on a lady at this hour?"

"I...suppose not."

"Propriety be damned, Cullen. It's apparent you have something you would like to discuss, and I would not mind the company. Unless there is more on your mind than simple conversation," she added suggestively, pressing her lips together in a sultry smirk. He was such an easy mark that it was impossible for Brynn to stop herself teasing him. "That could be indecent."

"What!? I...Of course not! I hope you do not truly think so poorly of me!" he spluttered, indignation clear in his voice. Brynn gave a tinkling laugh at his incredulous reaction. She found his shy, almost naive nature both amusing and appealing.

"It was a joke, Commander, not an impugnment against your unwavering honor. I apologize if I gave offense," she remarked serenely, retreating from her doorway backward into her hut. "Please come in, if you are still of a mind to converse."

Brynn watched as he hesitated briefly before stepping through the doorway and pulling the door closed behind him. She made her way through the dark to the cluttered desk pushed against the wall opposite her bed and fumbled for the tinderbox she had set upon it, moving to the fireplace once she had it grasped firmly within her hand. It wasn't long before the room was bathed in an orange glow.

"Sit anywhere you like," Brynn offered with gesture toward the two chairs in the room as she perched upon her bed, tucking her legs beneath her neatly. He chose the chair tucked under the desk, across the room from her, and she found she wasn't surprised that he did not choose the seat next to her bed. His amber gaze fell upon her once he was seated. The expression held within them set her pulse racing.

"You were away from Haven for nearly a month," he murmured. Brynn wondered if the note of longing she had detected behind his Fereldan accent was real or just her hopeful imagination. She had thought of him often, even missed him, during her travels. He looked away from her and toward the flames licking at the blackened stone of the sooty fireplace. "Are you faring better than you were during our last...discussion? I hope you are not pushing yourself too hard."

"I am fine, Commander," she replied, giving him a small, shy smile. "I promise I don't need any looking after. Though I must admit, your concern is...rather nice. This is the first time anyone has inquired after my well-being since before I ran away from home."

"You never told me you were a runaway," Cullen remarked with genuine interest. She gave him a wistful smile.

"Yes well, we had a bit of a disagreement before I got to that part, didn't we?"

He chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement as he laughed. "Yes, so we did. How old were you when you left home?"

"I was fifteen."

She spoke the words so softly that they were almost inaudible. Cullen's eyebrows rose in surprise, the worry lines etched into his forehead becoming more defined at the action. It was a reaction that Brynn expected. After all, there were not many people who could ever understand why a spoiled little girl born into a well-to-do family would willingly run away from a life of luxury. However, she did have her reasons, even if she felt absolutely no inclination to share them with anyone.

"That seems rather...young," he stated after a brief pause. He was staring at her as though she was a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out. Brynn felt slightly discomfited by his silent examination and fixed her gaze upon his almost defiantly.

"That's a rather hypocritical statement coming from someone who left home to join the Templar Order at the tender age of thirteen," she retorted coolly.

"Yes, well it's different joining the Order than it is striking out on your own. All my needs were tended to as a Templar. The Order fed, clothed and trained me. It wasn't as though I was left to my own devices to get by."

"I guess that's true," she ceded. He did make a fair point.

"So how did you...get by?"

"Luck, mostly. I was a fair hand at picking locks from a young age, always into something I ought not to have bothered. I stole as often as I could without being caught. I worked to earn money in whatever ways I could, plenty of which I do not remember fondly, as I made my way to Orlais," she remarked vaguely, her eyes downcast as she recalled some of her less appealing jobs. "When I ran away, the first place I went was Kirkwall. I spent a year there, working mostly as a serving wench under an assumed name in taverns to save enough money to secure safe passage to Nevarra."

"You were in Kirkwall around the same time I was assigned to Gallows, then?" he asked, looking at her expectantly. She nodded in reply, a lump in her throat as she recalled the time she spent in that reviled place. She had not enjoyed her time in Kirkwall and had been very glad to leave it. When she gave no further reply, he continued, "I was not one to frequent Kirkwall's taverns, but I am familiar with them. Where did you find employment?"

Brynn could feel her cheeks flush a delicate shade pink at this question, and she could see the dawning comprehension in his eyes as he watched her face redden. The Blooming Rose was not an establishment at which she would openly claim past employment to anyone, though Cullen seemed to surmise the truth well enough on his own. Although she had only been a serving girl, there were times when Madame Lusine had charged her with entertaining customers waiting on an occupied companion, and she had made extra coin allowing hands in places she would normally have reserved for someone with whom she was more involved.

"I...I see...You were but a child...You didn't...You only served drinks, right? There were no other...expectations?" he stammered, the muscles of his jaw twitching and spasming as he clenched his teeth together tightly. His face was a brilliant shade of scarlet now, and he looked incredibly perturbed by her silent admission.

"No! Of course not! I was only fifteen!"

"Did you not have any idea how dangerous it was for a pretty, young girl to work in an establishment such as that?" he demanded, his tone somewhere between incredulity and ire. Was he really intending on chastising her for choices she made when she was fifteen? "The men who frequent such places are…"

"There were plenty of Templars that frequented The Rose, if I recall correctly. Anyway, it does not matter where you go, there will always be such men who pose a threat to," she paused, putting a teasing inflection, "_pretty_ girls such as myself. It was a lesson I was reminded of many times throughout my travels."

Cullen cleared his throat uncomfortably before muttering, "I suppose you're right. So, you never told me, why were you running to Orlais?"

"I was looking for someone," came her simple reply. He gave her a questioning look, but Brynn was unsure how exactly to explain without telling him more than she truly wished to tell. Instead, she shrugged. "I didn't find him. I fell in with a band mercenaries instead."

"Mercenaries?"

"Yes, mercenaries," she repeated, succinctly. There was no more she wanted to say on the subject. "I wonder, Commander, did you come calling at my door so late in the eve to interrogate me about my youth, or was there something else on your mind?"

"Ah, yes, actually, there was something I had a mind to speak to you about."

Brynn observed him silently as his posture changed, became more rigid. His mouth was set in a straight, impassive line. She wasn't surprised by the realization that Cullen had not sought her presence for the simple pleasure of her company, though it still stung slightly. The matter at hand was important to him, after all.

"You are wondering if I intend to liberate the mages from the Tevinter or seek aid from the Templars," she remarked indifferently. If he was surprised by her perspicacity, it did not register upon his features.

"Yes. Do you know what you intend to do?"

It seemed he would force her into disappointing him much earlier than she had intended, but she supposed it did not matter now. She ignored the feelings of guilt bubbling somewhere in the pit of her stomach. She was making the right decision for the Inquisition. It was not her fault if Cullen could not see past his own personal biases.

"I...Yes...But you will not like my answer," she replied after a very pregnant pause. There was a flicker of something behind his eyes, though Brynn could not be entirely certain what it was. Disappointment? Frustration? Anger?

"You intend to side with the mages."

It wasn't a question.

"I do."

"Is there anything I can say that would convince you to further consider seeking aid from the Templars?"

"I'm sorry, Cullen, but I don't believe there is."

"I see," he murmured. An awkward silence hung in the air for a few minutes. After what seemed like an eternity to Brynn, he stood, his armor clanking softly as it shifted. "Then I require no more of your time."

She watched him go, the guilt she had been suppressing now overwhelming her. She tried telling herself that it didn't matter if he agreed or disagreed with her as long as she was making the right choice for the Inquisition. Eventually he would be able to see that she was only doing what she thought was best, but she couldn't help wondering just how long eventually might be.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'd just like to give a shout out to my readers! Thanks for stopping by! And again, a huge thank you to those of you who reviewed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

"It's not a matter for debate. There will be abominations among the mages, and we must be prepared!"

Brynn could hear the indignation behind the Commander's words as his voice rang sharply throughout the Chantry, echoing off the stone walls. He hadn't spoken to her directly since the night he had come calling at her door, the night before she left to confront the Magister, Alexius. The following morning he had not wished her luck, told her to be careful or given her any words of comfort before she rode off to what could easily have been, what very nearly was, her death. She drew a deep breath, inhaling slowly as she steeled herself against the harsh words he was bound to aim her way, but it did nothing to ease the nauseous bubbling of guilt in the pit of her stomach.

"If we rescind the offer an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst," Josephine countered, her thick Antivan accent laced with frustration to match the Commander's.

His amber eyes alighted upon the Herald as she approached, and Brynn had to remind herself not to cringe or flinch away as he glared at her. The expression upon his face was so feral it was almost frightening. She hoped she had managed to school her own expression into one of neutrality despite the apprehension growing in the pit of her stomach, but, beneath the ferocity of Cullen's scrutiny, Brynn was beginning to feel more and more like a doe who had wandered into a den of wolves.

"What were you thinking turning mages loose with no oversight!? The veil is torn open!" he raged at her. Brynn took another calming breath. She understood why he was angry with her, although she felt he was allowing his Templar prejudices to get the better of him. Still, understanding his anger did not make it sting any less when directed at her.

"We need them to close the breach. It's not going to work if we make enemies of them," the Herald replied serenely, hoping a tranquil demeanor would work to assuage his fury.

"I know we need them for the breach, but they could do as much damage as the demons themselves! You were there, Seeker! Why didn't you intervene?" Cullen demanded, directing his foul temper at Cassandra now. It was all Brynn could do not to heave a sigh of relief that his anger wasn't exclusively directed at her.

"While I may not completely agree with the decision, I support it. The sole point of the Herald's mission was to gain the mages' aid, and that was accomplished," Cassandra remarked coolly. Brynn was relieved that the Seeker was not allowing the Commander's temper to rile her own.

"The voice of pragmatism speaks! And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments," Dorian interjected in a merrily sardonic voice, his dark eyebrows raised in amusement. He had been leaning somewhere against a wooden support beam, observing the altercation from the safety of the sidelines. Brynn had almost forgotten about his presence entirely.

"Closing the breach is all that matters," stated Cassandra firmly, her jaw set in determination. The expressions that rested upon both Leliana's and Josephine's faces told the Herald that they were in agreement with the Seeker, and after everything Brynn had seen in Redcliffe, she, too, had never agreed with Cassandra more.

"I got a taste of the consequences if we fail. Let's make sure we don't," the Herald remarked sounding much more insouciant than she truly felt. Truthfully, the whole ordeal had unsettled her much more than she was willing to admit. The horrors that her companions had been subjected to in that reality were unspeakable, but the worst part was not knowing Cullen's fate. Regardless of his feelings toward her and her decisions, something in Brynn cared for the man. Some small part of her dwelled upon him, wishing only for his good health and happiness at the very least.

"We will not fail," came the Seeker's confident reply. There was a conviction in her dark eyes that told of a victory they had yet to achieve.

x.X.x

Cullen could not recall a time in his life when he had ever felt as completely and utterly outraged as he did right now. He had managed to douse the flames of his fury with cold professionalism, at least outwardly, but inwardly he was still seething. He had been admittedly frustrated with the Herald for choosing to aid the mages instead of approaching the Templars, but a full blown alliance with the rebel mages was appalling! How in all of Thedas could she ever think such a thing was a good idea!?

He huffed angrily, as he slammed a marker down onto the tactical map he was stewing over, the beginnings of a headache stirring somewhere behind his eyes. If it wasn't for their susceptibility to demons in the fade, he would have no problem with mages, whatsoever. He probably would even have welcomed the Herald's alliance and the mages' assistance with open arms. But that wasn't the world they lived in. Allowing mages to roam freely so near to a tear in the veil was pure madness. The potential for possession was too great. Was he the only one who recognized how reckless this current course of action was?

The sound of a woman clearing her throat delicately snapped him out of his contemplations. His head whipped up from the map so quickly that his neck ached as he stared at the woman who had interrupted his thoughts. He had been so absorbed that he hadn't even heard the war room door open.

"Commander, I would like a moment of your time," came the familiar softness of an Orlesian accent. He stared at Leliana for a minute before inclining his head slightly to indicate that he was listening. "It is about the Herald. You were becoming...close...before this ordeal, no?"

"We are friendly, yes," he grunted, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. What was Leliana getting at, exactly?

"I see. Has she told you much about her family?" the spymaster pressed on, ignoring Cullen's wary glare. He watched as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other as though uncomfortable. As usual, her features held no hint of emotion, but it was clear that something was weighing heavily upon her mind.

"Not much. I know she isn't close with them," he replied cautiously. Something similar to recognition flashed behind Leliana's blue eyes for a moment as she considered his words.

"No, well, she wouldn't be, would she?" she murmured, almost as though she was speaking to herself. The statement confused him.

"What are you on about?" the Commander demanded. The spymaster handed him a folded piece of worn, yellowed parchment. He gave her a questioning look as he took it from her. "What is this?"

"Read it."

Taking care with the delicate parchment, he unfolded it. It was a letter addressed to Josephine and signed by Bann Trevelyan. It was a letter from the Lady Trevelyan's father. His eyes followed the slanting words scrawled across the page with sudden interest.

_Lady Montilyet,_

_I am not certain where I should begin. I must admit my surprise at hearing of my youngest daughter's involvement in your Inquisition, especially filling the role of Andraste's Herald. It has been eleven long years since I laid eyes upon my daughter, and I had begun to doubt whether or not she still lived._

_My daughter has always been a difficult child who never relished her obligations to the Chantry or the Maker. She spent her time in Ostwick blaspheming the Maker and consorting with blood mages. Unfortunately, the christening of one so faithless as Brynn as the Herald of Andraste only lends credence to the Chantry's proclamation that yours is a heretical movement, one with which the Trevelyans can have no association._

_There is another matter about my daughter that I must share with you. She is a wanted criminal in Ostwick, whom we have publicly disavowed, but the stain that has been left upon our family's honor cannot be removed until she has answered for her crimes. She was found guilty of attempting to assist a known blood mage in an escape from Ostwick's Circle Tower and, therefore, sentenced to death. Surely you would not want such a person to remain part of your Inquisition, if you truly wish to do the good you claim to be doing. I implore you to arrest her and send her back to Ostwick immediately to face the penalty for the crimes she has committed._

_I hope that you and your family have remained well since we saw each other last, and I wish you all the best._

_Respectfully,_

_Bann Trevelyan_

Cullen stared openly at the letter, his jaw hanging open in disbelief. Could any of this be true? In some ways it made perfect sense. It explained why the Lady Trevelyan would run away from home at such a young age and her unusually sympathetic attitude toward the plight of the mages. However, Cullen could not help but take issue with the idea that Brynn would knowingly associate with blood mages. He couldn't imagine that she was tolerant of such iniquity.

"Have your agents looked into this? Tell me you have more information than...this," Cullen enjoined, giving the letter a look of utmost disgust.

"My agents have determined that the mage our Herald was aiding in an escape was her own sister. They have not, however, been able to find any proof that she was a blood mage beyond the unfounded accusations of a disgraced Knight-Captain. A young Templar was implicated in our Lady Trevelyan's escape. He was not so lucky in escaping his fate. They deprived him of lyrium and tortured him for weeks trying to discern our Herald's whereabouts. Even crazed from torment and lyrium withdrawal, he maintained that he was only saving the life of an innocent girl."

"I see," he replied, feeling somewhat relieved by this news. In Kirkwall, he had seen cases of innocent mages who were accused of crimes they did not commit by Templars using the common prejudices against mages to their advantage to try and hide their own unsavory behaviors, even if he did not recognize the situations for what they were at the time. Ostwick was probably no different. If the Lady Trevelyan's sister was one such victim, there was a lot about the woman that would finally make sense to him.

"You do see the problem, Commander?" Leliana inquired, looking increasingly agitated from beneath her hood. "If any of this gets out, true or not, it could easily be used to discredit the Inquisition. Josephine and I are both at a loss as to how we should reply to the Bann. We cannot send the Herald back to Ostwick, but Bann Trevelyan will use this information against us if we do not."

"You're certain of this intention?"

"He does not say it outright, but the threat is there," Leliana sighed, nodding. He watched as strands of fiery red hair fell into her eyes at the movement.

"So, why show me? What is it you expect me to do about any of this?" Cullen asked, suddenly apprehensive at the look on Leliana's face.

"You said you were...friendly...with the Herald? Show her this letter. Find out all you can. The more I know, the better prepared the Inquisition will be against such an accusation."

"Why me? If you need the information, why don't you interrogate her?" he inquired irritably. He raked a hand through his blonde curls in agitation, not certain he was quite ready to speak to the Herald just yet.

"Because coming from me, it would be an interrogation. But, if you approach her, it gives her the chance to confide in a friend," Leliana answered, a knowing smile playing about her lips. He bit back the frustrated huff threatening to escape from between his lips. The woman was a master manipulator.

"Fine. I'll speak to her after dinner."

x.X.x

The Herald was not at dinner, something that, Cullen decided, had worked out in his favor. Instead of sitting down at the table to eat with his lieutenants, he grabbed two steaming bowls full of whatever sort of stew was being served for the day and made his way toward the Herald's quarters. As he approached the door, he could clearly hear a man's laughter sounding from inside.

He froze, listening to the sound for a moment, icy tendrils of jealousy clutching at his stomach unexpectedly. The feeling caught him by surprise. Lady Trevelyan was an attractive woman, and he certainly found her interesting enough, if somewhat infuriating, but he was certain his attraction was nothing more than a passing fancy. Plus he had never laughed with her the way she was laughing with whoever was currently visiting. Whenever she and Cullen conversed about anything unrelated to the Inquisition, it seemed they spent more of their time avoiding uncomfortable subjects regarding their lives before the Inquisition and disagreeing with one another. Even now, he was upset with her about the mages. Nevertheless, he felt positively envious of whoever it was basking contentedly in the warmth of the Herald's presence, while he stood outside her door feeling suddenly foolish.

Wondering what exactly he was going to do with an extra bowl of dinner, Cullen turned away from the door, right as it opened and someone strode out. He had narrowly avoided a collision that would have spilled stew all down his front with the Tevinter mage, Dorian. He felt his insides roil with another wave of jealousy at the man's sudden appearance.

"I was just leaving, Commander. The lady is all yours," he said giving a small bow with an arrogant flourish of his hand. "It would seem you have another visitor," the mage called out into the open doorway behind him, giving Cullen a smug smirk as he leaned back against the door to hold it open. Cullen continued to stand uncomfortably outside the hut as he waited for an invitation, being watched all the while by the pompous Tevinter.

"Commander!" Lady Trevelyan gasped as she spotted Cullen standing outside her doorway. "I...wasn't expecting you. Please, come in."

He did not hesitate squeeze his way past the man standing at the door, eager to be away from any other prying eyes, as the mage's were bad enough. Once he was standing inside the almost oppressive warmth of the Herald's quarters, Cullen heard the door creak closed behind him, signaling Dorian's departure. Wordlessly, he offered the Herald one of the steaming bowls in his hands, which she took with a questioning look. She was dressed down in a form-fitting tunic and linen pants, every curve of her body clearly outlined by the tight clothing. He couldn't keep his eyes from raking over her form hungrily, mouth going dry as they followed every dip and swell of her body. Mercifully, Lady Trevelyan didn't seem to notice his indecorous lapse of self-control.

"Another apology?" she inquired, gesturing for him to sit at the cluttered desk across from her bed. "I see you brought some for yourself this time."

"I would first need to have done something to apologize for," he replied curtly, taking the seat she had gestured toward. Her grey eyes lit up with something akin to amusement at his words, seemingly sparkling in the glowing light of the fire.

"Good! Then you understand my position on the matter as well," she retorted, taking her own seat at the small table the foot of her bed. The corners of her mouth were slightly upturned as she regarded him with interest. She seemed to be challenging him to discuss her alliance with the mages further, but Cullen knew better than to take the bait. He changed tack instead.

"I see that you and the Tevinter are becoming fast friends," he remarked casually, examining the threads that held together the fingers of his gloves with an unusual amount of interest. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, but she gave no hint that the subject discomfited her.

"Well, there's something about being displaced in time that just brings people closer together, I suppose," she declared airily, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Why? Are you jealous?"

For a moment, the crackling of the fire in the hearth was the only sound in the room. Then, in spite of himself, Cullen felt his face split into a grin at her teasing. A soft chuckle sounded from somewhere in his chest.

"Of that puffed up dandy?" he exclaimed incredulously, mock offense crossing his features. He watched her eyebrows shoot up her forehead in surprise, before a grin to match his made its way onto her face.

"He is a bit foppish, isn't he?" she giggled, before shooting the Commander a sly look. "Although...You're awfully dashing in that armor of yours. I'm sure that wasn't by accident. And I don't think your hair lays that way all on its own."

"Nevermind my hair. Did you just call me dashing?" he asked her teasingly, though he was genuinely interested in her answer. Her cheeks went slightly pink as she pressed her full lips together in a coy smile.

"I recall someone referring to me as…What was it, again?...Pretty, if I recall correctly, in a previous conversation. I just thought I'd return the compliment," she teased in return. Her reminder of his slip up set the tips of his ears burning. "So did you come to discuss the breach? I thought we decided to hold the war council tomorrow?"

"Ah...No, that's...not why I am here," he mumbled, suddenly feeling awkward. All previous mirth was now gone from his expression. He felt uneasy as he retrieved the letter Leliana had given him from a pocket. The Herald tensed immediately at his change in demeanor,. "Lady Montilyet received this missive a few days ago, and, well...It's worthy of your consideration."

He rose from his seat and handed it over to her. By the time he had taken his seat once more, her eyes were scanning the page rapidly. There was no expression, not even a flicker of emotion, on her face as she read the words scrawled upon the parchment.

"It would seem Lady Montilyet wrote my family even after I told her that no good would come of it. I'm assuming you've read this?" she asked him. Her tone was unexpectedly sedate, almost disquietingly so. He nodded his reply. "And now you have questions you would like me to answer."

"Leliana had her agents look into the veracity of this letter's claims."

"So I am being investigated by the Inquisition without any knowledge of the situation or chance to defend myself against such claims?" queried Brynn, her voice still unnervingly calm. He had expected her to react with anger or fear, possibly even shame, but he had never anticipated cold detachment. It was almost as though she had been expecting to be approached on the subject.

"I had no idea such a letter had been received until earlier today. I am sorry that it was kept from you. I had no say in the matter."

"What will you do with me, now that you've learned the truth?"

Her voice was monotonous as she asked the question, grey eyes fixed upon the half eaten bowl of stew in front of her. The letter lay discarded, half folded beside the bowl. He stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment.

"The truth!?" Cullen spluttered, sounding completely aghast. This confession was the very last thing he expected from her. "Maker's breath! Are you saying...it's true? Everything in the letter?"

"I have no proof that it isn't, so it doesn't really matter, does it?" she replied, with a gasping, almost hysterical laugh. She gave him a bitter smile, despite the tears that were shining in the corner of her eyes.

"The way I understood it, and you can correct me if I am wrong, was that you were a doting little sister, a child, trying to rescue her elder sister from whatever injustices she was being subjected to in the Circle."

The Herald's eyes went wide, the smile completely gone from her face. She peered at him as though she had never actually seen him before now, before croaking, "How? How would you…?"

"I was a Templar once," he answered simply, giving a small shrug. "Having a healthy amount of respect for the potential dangers associated with magic does not mean that I am blind to the abuses to which mages are often subjected. Neither mages nor Templars are wholly bad or good. Tell me about your sister. What was her name?"

"Bronwyn. I was five when she was taken to the Tower. She was defending me against one of my brothers. He was bullying me. They always did that. But, Bronwyn always made them stop. She yelled and shook her finger at him, told him to freeze right there, and he did. Really did! Ice and everything. He was blue and shivering for an hour. I thought it was my fault when they took her away. I cried to my father and told him the blame was mine. I told him the Templars should take me away instead. He just shook his head and told me that I would understand in time.

My mother visited Bronwyn in the Tower as often as she could. She even took me along with her sometimes. Even when she didn't, I would send letters, and she would write back. I loved my sister, so much. Missed her, so much. I thought about joining the Order, just so I could see her more often, but when my brother Broghan took his vows, they sent him away to the White Spire. It was a conflict of interest for him to oversee the mages in Ostwick, as his views could be skewed by familial regard for his sister, they said. So I contented myself with visiting as often as was possible, instead, glad for the opportunity just to see her at all. It was the only time I was ever grateful for my status as a noble," she said with a mirthless titter, smiling to herself softly as her eyes focused past their surroundings to whatever memory she was reliving. It seemed that now she had started talking, she couldn't stop. Cullen remained perfectly still and silent as he listened, afraid that any interruption would cause the Herald to rethink sharing the rest of her story with him.

"I was fourteen before I started visiting my sister, a fully harrowed mage by this point, without my mother's oversight. I was the only one of my siblings who did. I spent so much of my time in the Tower that I befriended a young Templar, Ser Declan. He was new to the Tower when we met, eighteen and had just taken his vows. He'd deliver letters to my sister on the days she could not manage to visit with me. Ser Declan was infatuated with me, and I with him, though we both knew there was nothing to be done about it. It was a match my parents would never approve as he had no title. That did not stop him from spending every spare moment of his time with me. We often met outside the tower to wander Ostwick's countryside, arm in arm.

On one such day, shortly after my fifteenth birthday, when we were supposed to meet, he came rushing toward me, his face pale, hands shaking. I asked him what was wrong, and he simply said, 'Your sister. They're going to make her tranquil.' I was horrified, of course. She was a harrowed mage. How could the Templars even think of doing something like that? According to Declan, she had made accusations against one of the Knight-Captains for taking liberties with her person that she did not willingly offer him. The Templar retaliated against these accusations by making some of his own. He claimed she was a blood mage who was trying to discredit him, before he could provide sufficient evidence of her crimes. My sister was devout Andrastian. She would never have practiced something as wicked as blood magic! But it didn't matter. Without proof of her guilt, an execution could not be justified, so the Knight-Commander decided tranquility was the next best option.

Because she was a Trevelyan, he wrote to my father first, asking him to support the decision, before the Rite of Tranquility was performed. I begged my father to visit the Circle and reason with the Knight-Commander. He knew Bronwyn, had witnessed her devotion the the Maker, knew she would never dabble in blood magic. Instead he told me that she had been away from his influence for too long, if the Templars had decided tranquility was the right course of action, he was in agreement. 'Would you stand by and allow an uprising of blood mages as they did in Ferelden?' he asked me coldly.

So I devised a plan to help Bronwyn escape from the Tower, before they could perform the Rite. We were caught. She was," Brynn gave a great shuddering breath before she continued on, "executed on the spot, and I was arrested, tried and sentenced to death, myself. Declan helped me to breakout of the dungeon. He told me to flee to Kirkwall, that he would meet me there when he was able. We were going to run to Orlais together, to find my brother, Broghan, who had been promoted to Knight-Captain some time before all this, and tell him what had happened in Ostwick. It was the only thing we could think to do. So I ran to Kirkwall. I waited there a year for Declan, barely surviving, living in between Darktown and Lowtown and working at places of ill repute. After that year passed, I could not bring myself to stay in Kirkwall any longer. I moved on to Nevarra, working my way to Orlais and continuing on with Declan's plan by myself, wondering all the while why he never came for me. I still do not know what has become of him."

She was weeping soundlessly, her eyes focused on her lap as her shoulders trembled slightly. Cullen was uncertain what he should say or do as he watched the tears drip onto her knees. There was no doubt in his mind that Lady Trevelyan was telling the truth. The woman sitting across the room from him had so obviously lost everything she had ever held dear, and at such a young age. And now, she was embroiled in a quest that could cost her the very last thing she had left to lose, her life, as there was no possible way to know how closing the breach would affect her.

"I'm...I'm sorry, Commander," she hiccuped softly as her crying subsided, wiping at her red-rimmed eyes in embarrassment. Any anger he still felt toward her had dissipated completely, to be replaced with feelings of tender compassion. The overwhelming urge to comfort her in some manner seemed to course through him, though he resisted the instinct. "I've...never told anyone any of...this. But I knew, once I joined the Inquisition, that I wouldn't be able to hide from it much longer."

"There is nothing for you to apologize for, my lady. I am...honored...that you would choose to place your confidence in me," he murmured gently, still watching her intently. Even with swollen eyes and tear-streaked cheeks, she was a beautiful woman. He found himself longing to wipe away the drops still lingering, dew-like, upon her sun-kissed cheeks, to run his thumb across the swell of her cheekbones. Instead he decided to put her mind at ease the only way he knew how. "Your young Templar, Ser Declan, you said? It was discovered that he had a hand in your escape. He was also sentenced to death. In the weeks before his execution, he refused to give away anything of your whereabouts and maintained your innocence even under extreme duress. He did not abandon you by choice."

A look of horror crossed her delicate features, though it was fleeting, and an oppressive silence settled between them. At long last, she spoke. "I was afraid he had been found out. Thank you for telling is some small measure of comfort in the knowledge." She paused, gazing at him blankly for a moment. "I'm sorry, Commander, but I think I would like to be alone right now."

"I understand," he replied, rising immediately to leave. The Herald rose from her seat as well and led him to the door, but instead of pulling it open for him, she paused, standing in his way. She was close enough that Cullen could smell the faint, flowery scent of her sandy brown hair as he inhaled. He wondered absently if those wavy locks were as soft as they looked.

"Cullen?" Brynn whispered, her eyes flitting hesitantly back and forth between his own as he stared down at her. Before he realized what was happening, her small hand was braced against the top of his breastplate for balance as stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his stubbled cheek. "Thank you."

With that soft utterance, she pulled the door opened for him, and Cullen stumbled out into the crisp evening air feeling slightly dazed by the night's events. His fingers were pressed to the still tingling spot on his face where her lips had been. He fought to contain the smile that was threatening to plaster itself all over his face, knew that it wasn't appropriate considering all that he had learned, but found he just could not help himself.


End file.
